


The Chain

by UP2L8



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UP2L8/pseuds/UP2L8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy does something stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roy

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I wrote this when real life was getting me down. It put me in a really bad mood, and I took it out on the boys. This contains no happy. Consider yourself warned. Enjoy? *runs away*

The glass was ice cold against his fingers tips, and made wet rings on the coffee table. He tracked it across the dark wood, inscribing random patterns, uncaring of the damage he was doing. So typical. All the job related pressure he'd been under that week, the stress of advancing his career through a minefield of his superiors' idiosyncrasies, seemed so trivial now. He had more important concerns at the moment. Personal concerns. The rest of it just didn't seem to matter anymore, in light of what he had likely lost.

From bitter experience he knew that drinking was never the answer. It was part of the problem actually, but not all of it. He was the real problem, a self fulfilling prophesy, dragging everyone else down with him. He did not deserve to be happy, so he would see to it that he was not, consciously or otherwise. And anyone who disagreed had best be careful not to get caught in the backwash.

Like Edward, for example. The kid should have known better than to get involved with him, particularly since he was no stranger to fate's cruel justice. The little blond had lost so much himself, his father, his mother, his limbs, his brother's body. Still, he never gave up trying to make it right. Given enough time and effort, he thought he could actually solve his problems, if only he kept trying, pushing, fighting. The quixotic little fool.

The Fullmetal Alchemist was supposed to be on assignment in the East. Roy had heard from him only two days prior, a growling, discouraged phone call informing him that the assignment had taken an unfortunate turn and was infuriatingly far from completion. The young alchemist had been away nearly a month. Could anyone blame Roy for being lonely, or for looking for a little company to pass the time?

It had started out innocently enough. A particularly rough day at the office. A chance meeting in the canteen. She'd caught his eye, hair the same honey blond as Edward's. A light flirtation. A dinner invitation. He blamed the second bottle of wine for taking it farther than he'd intended. In the bed he shared with Edward. Back in the day he'd never brought his lovers home. Nice hotels, or their place. Until Edward. What was it about the kid that made him break all his own rules? Stupid question. He knew what it was.

She was beautiful, and sensual, and enthusiastic. Soft where Edward was firm, warm where he was cool steel. Hushed purrs instead of ragged growls. She was a kitten in Roy's bed, different from the playful tiger he'd become so accustomed to. Roy couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it. Knowing he was doing Edward wrong didn't quell his desire or dampen his pleasure. The tickle of guilt was almost beneath his notice, though he knew it would grow as the alcohol's numbness faded. He lay there in the afterward, sweat cooling, her head pillowed on his shoulder, that silky blond hair framing the wrong sleeping face. Roy was wondering how he could tactfully awaken his guest and suggest that she leave, when the door quietly opened, and his heart froze in his chest.

His held his face cold and still, but Edward could never keep what he was feeling from his eyes. There was no surprise in them now. He must have been outside the bedroom for some time, listening, in pain. Betrayed. Standing in the doorway he nodded slowly, as if he had needed to see this to actually believe it. He'd met Roy's stunned gaze with devastated sorrow, and then he'd turned away. Roy followed the sound of his quiet exit, down the stairs and out the front door.

The soft click signalling that closing door finally roused Roy from his shock, panic replacing it. He slipped from the bed and rushed to the front hall, peering out the window into a street empty of Edward. Too late. He found himself in the shower, washing away the scent of what he'd done, the effects of the wine driven from his system in the wake of that panic stricken adrenalin surge. He dressed, and woke . . . Cheryl? Shirley? The idea that he'd just thrown away the brightest light in his life for someone whose name he couldn't recall nearly suffocated him.

Out into the streets, first to the small flat Alphonse and Winry shared, his obvious distress scaring the hell out of Edward's brother and his very pregnant automail mechanic. It was clear Edward wasn't there. Alphonse' panic shifted to simmering fury when Roy had reluctantly admitted that he had done something beyond stupid, and Edward had witnessed it, and had vanished into the night. The younger man had grabbed his jacket and brushed roughly past Roy, off to make a search of his own. Winry had watched her angry husband out of sight without a word, then gave Roy a final, pitying glance as she quietly shut the door.

The park was next, but he should have known Edward wouldn't be there. It was too full of the memories of happy, peaceful times they'd shared, walking, talking, just being together. Hollow memories now, made empty by deceit, a haunted place in the moonlight.

Next, the dorms. The duty Sergeant hadn't seen the Fullmetal Alchemist that evening, and a quick check through the log sheets confirmed that Edward wasn't there. Central was a big city, and there was no way Roy could check all the hotels on foot. He'd gone to his office fully intending to start phoning each and every one.

Roy hadn't bothered to switch on the lights in the outer office as he strode through it towards his inner sanctum, and almost missed seeing the young man. Edward was there, sitting quietly at Hawkeye's desk, turning his watch over in his hands, silver glinting in the darkness of the room. Roy froze, taking in the scene. Edward. The thin white envelope on the desk in front of him. The watch. No.

This wasn't over. It couldn't be.

"It's okay, I get it," Edward said softly, face the picture of calm, though his eyes told a different story. "I guess it was only a matter of time. How could I ever be enough for you?" The watch turned in his hands, over and over.

Roy's guts twisted. He wanted to slap the watch away! He wanted to tear the white envelope and its contents to shreds! He wanted to pull the younger man to his feet and shake him! More than anything, he wanted to turn the clock back a few hours and make this go away! "It's not okay. You don't understand anything!" he snarled.

Edward shrugged. "I guess not, but it doesn't really matter anymore."

"That's it then?" Roy's fear came out like anger in his voice. "What were you going to do? Leave your letter of resignation with your watch on my desk and just disappear?"

"I thought about it," Edward admitted. "But I couldn't do it. I was going to wait until you got here in the morning. Don't have to wait, now." He suddenly looked exhausted.

This was twisted, wrong. The blond should be howling in outrage, smashing the furniture, pounding the walls, kicking Roy's ass. He shouldn't be sitting so quiet, so diminished, raw misery crushing him.

"If you're going to leave me, at least do it for the right fucking reasons," Roy snarled. "Do it because I'm an asshole. Do it because I'm a lying, cheating bastard. Not because you're somehow not good enough for me, when it's really the opposite that's true."

Edward 's shoulders slumped. He looked so defeated Roy just wanted to pull him from the chair and fold him in his arms, hold him tight, but he no longer had that right. He'd lost it in a few moments of utter stupidity.

"Edward, I love you. Please, I don't want to lose you," he tried, mouth dry with fear. "I'm sorry. I was lonely. I was drunk. I was selfish, and stupid, and . . . and . . . just really, unbelievably stupid, and . . . "

"And I was supposed to be out of town." The blond said flatly, and Roy realized then what he had lost.

The all important chain of trust was broken. In the three years they had been together, this had been the one and only time Roy had cheated. But how was Edward supposed to know that? He could see it in the boy's eyes, see him wondering just how often Roy had been unfaithful, and there was nothing the older man could do to erase that doubt now.

"I need some time to think," Edward said. He stood. Picked up his watch and the envelope. Handed both to Roy. Met Roy's stricken eyes with heart-piercing amber. And he'd left.

The soda water in his glass would taste a lot better with a bit of scotch mixed in, and he'd feel a lot better anaesthetized by the spirit as well, but Roy wasn't going to allow himself that luxury anymore. This wasn't over. Edward still loved him. He was sure of it. He just had to wait for the young man to forgive him. And in the mean time, make sure he stayed out of trouble, waiting for his lover to come home. He might not deserve it, but he wanted to be happy, and Edward made him feel whole. He had to be patient. He had to get Edward back.

Whatever it took.

He would do it.

However long it took.

He would wait.

~To be continued~


	2. Ed

He sat in the smoky dimness at the bar, chin resting on his left hand, clinking automail fingers against his glass. Last night he had told Roy that he needed to think. The problem was he didn't want to. Thinking pulled him into a spiral of misery, the previous night's events playing over and over again in his mind.

It was hard to believe that only yesterday, when he'd thought about his life with Roy, he had felt like he owned the world. Now he felt shattered beyond healing, his greatest comfort the cause. As hard as he tried to avoid it, his thoughts kept dragging him down a familiar, self depreciating path: this was always going to happen, because a fucked up loser like himself would never be allowed such happiness. He didn't deserve it, after all the harm he had done. Equivalent exchange.

He should have known fate was getting ready to kick him in the nuts when everything had abruptly done an about face and started to go his way. The frustrating turn Edward's assignment had taken became a fluky break in disguise, or so he had thought at the time. A mere two days after calling his commander to say that the mission was nowhere near completion, the young man had suddenly had everything wrapped up neat and tidy, and the only reason he hadn't called back to update his Colonel on this auspicious development was because he'd wanted to surprise the man with his early return. The young alchemist had filed his report with the local military detachment in record time, booked the next train out of Dodge, and spent the entire twelve hour journey back to Central humming with anticipation, imagining Roy's pleased reaction to see him back so soon.

It was late in the evening when Edward finally arrived home. The house was dark as he walked up to the front porch, but the small reading lamp glowed in the living room, and his smile widened as he quietly slipped into the house. He took off his coat and turned to hang it on the rack, pausing when he found an unfamiliar jacket already hanging there beside Roy's. Tan suede with a luxurious fur collar, the cut was obviously feminine. Wondering who could be visiting at that hour, Edward felt the first cool touch of unease. He heard no quiet hum of conversation from the front room, and a quick peek through the archway confirmed that it was empty. Edward's sense of foreboding grew.

A soft sound drifted down from upstairs, a husky, appreciative laugh, Roy's, and Edward's heart began to pound. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to leave, to bolt out the front door and just keep going, but he couldn't. He had to see, to know for sure. He slowly turned toward the stairs.

It was like he had suddenly been thrown into a nightmare, his feet moving on their own, dragging the rest of him up the stairs, the heavy carpet muffling each reluctant step. The sound of Roy and someone else at play grew louder as Edward approached the closed door of the bedroom, each quiet murmur and pleased gasp like a knife twisting in the young man's chest, painfully tearing apart his life and rearranging it to fit this new reality.

He didn't know how long he stood there, listening until all was quiet, forehead resting against the smooth wooden panel. It felt like hours. It felt like forever. The young man finally reached out a shaking hand to grip the doorknob and ease the door open, bracing himself to face the blow.

Roy laid there on his back, sated and relaxed, the woman with him asleep, her head pillowed on his pale shoulder, her arm thrown possessively across his chest. The older man's eyes were frozen wide on Edward in the doorway, shocked. The younger man slowly nodded, beyond shock now. He just felt empty. He had needed to see this to believe it. Well, he had seen. He believed.

He found himself walking down the street, thoughts spinning disconnected through his head, wondering where to go, what to do. He couldn't remember ever feeling so completely alone.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't go to Al and Winry, not like this. Winry was due any day now and the young couple had enough to deal with at the moment without a devastated Edward showing up on their doorstep in the middle of the night. Tomorrow, in the light of day, when he had had time to get his head around all this, would be soon enough to impose on his little brother and his best friend. Besides, right now Edward didn't think he could stand to say out loud what had happened. Just thinking around the edges of it made him feel broken.

The young alchemist found himself standing in front of Central Headquarters, staring up at the huge white tower through the main gate. He could go to the dorms, but the thought of lying on a thin, lumpy mattress, staring up at the ceiling all night, made his fists clench. There was something he had to do.

The office was dark, and almost soothing in its silence. As a field agent, Edward had never had a desk of his own here despite being a part of the team. He made his way over to Hawkeye's, nearest the door to Mustang's private office. Pulling her battered typewriter into place he began to peck out his last official memorandum as a State Alchemist.

There was no point to staying in the military now. He had stuck around because being part of Roy's command was the only place he had ever felt he belonged. He didn't feel that way now, and he didn't want to transfer anywhere else. It was a shit job, and he wanted out.

His military career hadn't been all bad though. He'd made a lot of good friends here over the years. And he'd enjoyed traveling, seeing the world, helping people where he could. But he certainly wouldn't miss all the bullshit. Like the rogue alchemists trying to transmute their way to godhood. Or the corrupt politicians playing their power games. Or the murderers, con artists, and thieves. Or the paperwork. Al had been bugging him to get the hell out ever since he'd got his skin back. Well, now his little brother had his wish.

Edward signed his letter of resignation and sealed it in an envelope. Then he reached into his right hip pocket and pulled out his watch, remembering the day Mustang had tossed it to a desperate twelve year old, almost dismissively, about a thousand years ago. The young man briefly considered matching that gesture by leaving it, along with the letter, on the man's desk to be found the next day, but it was only a fleeting thought. That would be a coward's way out, and the Fullmetal Alchemist was not a coward. He would hand it over face to face in the morning.

There was nothing to do now but sit and wait, and the office was as good a place as any to do that. With his watch clasped loosely in his hands, his thoughts dragged him back once again to the scene in the bedroom, and his heart squeezed painfully. He was such a fool. Given Mustang's past, Edward should have known something like this was eventually going to happen. He had always wondered why the man who could have anyone would settle for a scarred, half metal freak. In all likelihood the Flame had gotten bored and moved on, but hadn't got around to telling Ed yet. The young man knew he should be angry, but right now, all he felt was a deep sense of loss. He was just about to lay his head down on the desk when he heard the sound of hurried boot steps in the hall, and knew who it must be. Strange, but it had never occurred to the young man that Mustang might come looking for him.

Roy hadn't bothered to switch on the lights in the outer office as he strode through it towards his inner sanctum, and he almost walked right past the young blond seated quietly at Hawkeye's desk. The Colonel's eyes caught on his lover and the watch moving restlessly in his hands, silver glinting in the darkness of the room, and froze, taking in the scene. Edward. The thin white envelope on the desk in front of him. The watch. Edward saw denial in those dark eyes, and remorse, and . . . was that fear?

"It's okay, I get it," Edward said softly, keeping his face calm, though his heart pounded inside the cage of his chest. "I guess it was only a matter of time. How could I ever be enough for you?" The watch turned in his hands, over and over.

Roy's face twisted. "It's not okay. You don't understand anything!" he snarled.

Edward shrugged. "I guess not, but it doesn't really matter anymore."

"That's it then?" Roy said, anger in his voice. "What were you going to do? Leave your letter of resignation with your watch on my desk and just disappear?"

"I thought about it," Edward admitted. "But I couldn't do it. I was going to wait until you got here in the morning. Don't have to wait, now." He suddenly felt exhausted.

The younger alchemist dully watched the play of emotions across Roy's face. The misery, the remorse, the self loathing, nothing hidden, all defences cast aside. Roy wasn't here to apologize and confirm that he had indeed moved on. He was here to acknowledge that he had screwed up, hoping the damage wasn't irreparable. Edward wanted to cross the vast distance that had opened up between them, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out. The pain was still too fresh.

"If you're going to leave me, at least do it for the right fucking reasons," Roy snarled. "Do it because I'm an asshole. Do it because I'm a lying, cheating bastard. Not because you're somehow not good enough for me, when it's really the opposite that's true."

Edward 's shoulders slumped. The Flame had said out loud what Edward had not dared to think. What all this meant. That it was over. That he was leaving Roy. He suddenly felt defeated, staring up at the man standing there, still frozen in place, dark eyes mirroring his own inner turmoil.

The older man's eyes took on a desperate gleam. "Edward, I love you. Please, I don't want to lose you," he said into the silence, voice unsteady. "I'm sorry. I was lonely. I was drunk. I was selfish, and stupid, and . . . and . . . just really, unbelievably stupid, and . . . "

"And I was supposed to be out of town." The blond said flatly, and realized the worst part of this.

The all important chain of trust, forged over time, link by link, was broken. Edward thought back through the three years that he and Roy had been together, to all the countless times he had been away on assignment. How often had Roy been unfaithful? Edward wanted to ask, but was afraid of the answer. Either way, how could he believe what Roy told him now?

"I need some time to think," Edward said. He stood. Picked up his watch and the envelope. Handed both to Roy. Met Roy's stricken eyes with heart-piercing amber. And he'd left.

Lost and aching, he'd walked out of headquarters to find an enormously relived Alphonse there waiting. His little brother had asked no questions, just lent his silent support as he led Edward home. Winry had been sitting up when they got there, sweet camomile brewing in the teapot. She'd given her friend a gentle hug before taking her husband by the hand to lead him away, leaving Ed alone with his thoughts, for which he had been pathetically grateful. Trust Winry to know that well meaning commiseration was not what he'd needed just then. And the tea was just the right way to remind him that he was loved.

So now . . . what was he going to do? Sitting around feeling sorry for himself wasn't his style. There was always an upside, right? He was a free man. Out of the military, as of twenty-four hours ago. Single, for about the same length of time. No attachments to influence his decisions. He could do anything now, go anywhere. There was nothing holding him back. Except this huge hole in his life where Roy should slot in to make him feel complete.

And now finally, thank _fuck_ , the anger came, surging through him, and it was almost a relief. It displaced the helpless rot of his anguish with the cleansing heat of rage.

How could Roy have done this to him? What the fuck had he been thinking, if he'd been thinking at all? He knew Ed loved him. Had what they had together meant so little to Roy that he could so casually throw it away for a little bedroom fun? Was it all one sided after all, Edward committing all of himself and Roy giving just what was convenient for himself at the time? Had this been some fucked up game to the older man, a way to keep Ed on a leash, keep the Fullmetal Alchemist in the military under his command, keep Roy on the fast track to his next promotion?

But Edward knew that wasn't who Roy was. As much as this had thrown Edward's self confidence into turmoil and his trust in Roy into the toilet, when push came to shove, deep down, he knew that Roy loved him. It had always been written in every look, every touch. Even last night in the office, Roy's face had twisted with the anguish of his loss. And he had never betrayed Edward in any other way before this. This was the exception, not the rule. A mistake, not some planned deception. Could Edward really let what was in all likelihood a single mistake end what he had thought of as the best thing that had ever happened to him? Besides, Edward was the biggest screw up of all time, intimately aware of what it felt like to fuck things up in the worst way. Who the hell was he to hold someone else's mistakes against them?

The beer he had been nursing all evening was piss warm, and he didn't really want it anyway. Leaving some change on the bar he walked out into the cool evening air. It was time to stop wallowing around in self pity and dig up some balls. Being with Roy was the only thing that had ever made sense, even now. Roy was still the best thing that had ever happened to him, and meekly walking away from the one who made him feel complete just wasn't an option. Edward Elric was not a quitter by any means, and he wasn't going to change now. Anything worth having was worth fighting for, and Edward still believed that Roy was worth the fight.

It wasn't over.

They could get past this.

He had to go talk to Roy.

To be continued


	3. Roy and Ed

The night was cool, but the fire in the hearth and the sultry jazz scenting the air had lulled him to a comfortable place. Roy relaxed back into the big armchair, stretching his legs out towards the fireplace, the half empty glass of soda water forgotten now on the side table. It was quite late and he was just tired enough, he found, that if he let his mind wander, he could almost pretend that the previous night's events had never happened, that Edward was just away on assignment, that Roy could still look forward to when his lover would soon be happily, thankfully, home. That, of course, was never going to happen now. Roy had seen to that rather efficiently, thank you very much. Unless Edward found it in his heart to forgive him. Time would tell.

It went against the Flame Alchemist's nature to sit and wait for things to happen. He was more inclined to seize the moment, take matters in hand to twist and shape until they suited his needs. But that was out of the question in this case, though even now he had to force himself not to rush out into the night looking for Edward, looking for some way to make things right. This wasn't Central Command however, and Edward wasn't some difficult superior Roy needed to outmanoeuvre, a possible promotion the only stake. The stakes were much higher, and he'd already screwed up big time. The ball was currently in Edward's court, and any attempt to manipulate the situation ran the risk of making things even worse.

So he would sit. And wait. And take the fact that Edward hadn't come by to cart his meagre belongings away in a cardboard box as a good sign.

He ignored the first quiet knock at his door, completely disinterested in seeing anyone but the one person it couldn't possibly be. The second knock was louder, and Roy wondered if maybe . . . but why would Edward knock at his own door? Roy reached the front hall as the sound of the third, more insistent knock faded in the still air of the hallway.

Edward stood there, hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets, face as neutral as he could make it.

"Why did you knock?" Roy asked, stepping back to let the young man enter. "This is your home too. Isn't it?" His voice was rough, heart squeezing with a mix of hope and dread.

"I . . . guess I'm a little gun shy about just . . . walking in out of the blue," Edward said, ducking his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Roy's.

"Are you . . . coming home?" Roy asked hopefully. "Or . . . not?"

"I want to. If, you know, you still want me to."

Roy felt as though his legs had turned to rubber, his relief was so great. "Ed, you have no idea how much. I've been going insane, thinking that you . . . that I'd . . ."

"I love you," Ed cut him off before Roy could get his thoughts together, then brushed past him, moving into the living room, taking in the fire, the chair, the half empty glass. "I'm also really, really pissed off at you right now. Because I know you love me too, and I just can't figure out how you could do this to me. To us."

Roy followed close behind, wanting to reach out, to touch, but he felt like he still hadn't the right. Edward had always been volatile and unpredictable, and the older alchemist felt that one false move would earn him more grief than he could handle.

"I do love you," the older man said. "I wish I could offer you some plausible explanation for what happened, but the truth is I'm not completely sure why I did it myself." Edward turned to face him, but instead of the expected anger and disbelief, Roy saw wry sympathy, so he continued. "I'd like to blame it on the wine, or loneliness, or even you. Because the fact is I'm not a very nice person."

Edward grimaced, then walked to the armchair to lift Roy's half empty glass, one eyebrow rising at the contents. "I was going to say that that was the whiskey talking, but you're not drinking, are you," the young man observed, somewhat surprised.

"No. Drinking is part of my problem, and unfortunately, the easiest part to solve."

Edward's eyebrow still hovered near his hairline. "So what's the hard part?"

"As you are well aware, I'm a bastard. I've committed terrible deeds for which I have never atoned, and I think that is ultimately why I believe that I don't deserve the kind of peace I have found with you."

Edward frowned. "So you plan to make up for your sins by driving away the people that love you?"

"Not consciously, no. But maybe it's better in the long run, for them as well as me. I still believe that nothing good in my life can last. Eventually they will leave or be taken away, because I don't deserve to be happy."

"I used to think that way too, but it's a load of crap," Edward leaned back against the mantle, crossing his arms over his chest. "Life doesn't work that way. It doesn't automatically punish sins, like for like. It kind of leaves that up to the sinner. Not the greatest system, but that's the way it is. So yeah, you're a bastard. There are worse bastards in the world. And while you might not believe it, in reality you _are_ a good person. Your regrets and the way you work to set things right prove that. _I_ still believe in you."

Roy wondered how he could stand here and listen to the person he had wronged defend him to himself. This wasn't . . . natural. "I don't understand how you could forgive me so easily, when I still haven't forgiven myself," he said, then clamped his teeth together. Was he trying to drive Edward away?

Edward cocked his head to one side, considering. "If this were the other way around, would you forgive me?"

Roy hissed in a breath. The very idea of Edward cheating on him gave Roy a pain straight through his chest so severe he thought he was having a heart attack. And on the edge of that pain, a sense of deep betrayal. Yes, he knew what Edward must be feeling right now. But still the younger man was here, trying to save what they had had with each other. He still thought Roy was worth having. And Roy knew that he would feel the same if the situation was reversed. Very few people were lucky enough to find the other half of their soul.

"I would," Roy admitted. "But you would never do what I have done. You would never be so selfish as to screw up this badly. Making a mistake this big just proves I don't deserve . . ."

"I'm no stranger to making the big mistakes, Mustang," the blond spat. "Do you want to go over the list? Let's start with how I turned my mother into a monster and sentenced my brother to spend nearly five years of his life in an unfeeling tin can in the process. It drove me crazy, knowing how my mom would be so ashamed of me, wondering why Al didn't hate me. Hell, _I_ hated me." Edward stopped, closing his eyes to search for control, then took a calming breath before he continued, eyes once again locked on Roy's. "The only thing that kept me going was the hope that I might be able to get Al back into his natural body. And you gave me that hope. You helped me reach my goal. And then afterward, you gave me this new life, where I feel wanted and needed. Where I feel like I belong. I still sometimes wonder what someone like you could see in a cranky, loud mouthed, half metal brat, how I could deserve someone like you. But you're the one that helped me get past that, you know? So don't stand there and tell me what you deserve. I love you, whether you like it or not."

"You still feel that way, after the way I have hurt you?"

"You hurt both of us. But we can get past this. I know we can. Don't you want to try?"

Roy struggled with the urge to crush the younger man to his chest. "I want to. I want you so badly."

"I'm right here. What are you waiting for?" Ed said as he stepped closer, looking earnestly into midnight eyes.

And they were kissing, pressed tight against each other, mouths and hands desperate for each other. Roy tangled his hands in Edward's golden hair, the younger man gripping two fistfuls of his lover's shirt and holding tight.

Too tight.

Roy broke away forcefully and looked deep into his lover's eyes to find heat, and hurt, and hastily covered uncertainty. The broken links of their chain still jabbed in tender places, and for all his considerable determination to get past this, Roy knew that Edward was still vulnerable to his doubts.

"Don't think," the dark haired man whispered. "You're right, we can get through this. I don't want to forget what I did, how I might have lost you through selfish stupidity, and I don't expect you to either. But we can't let it come between us."

Edward jerked a nod, letting out a shaky breath. "I know," he said softly. "I'm sor..."

"Don't apologize to me," Roy said placing a finger on the younger man's lips. "I caused this problem." He pulled Edward close again, more gently this time, and kissed him softly.

Edward responded, slowly, and Roy knew he was feeling his way through this, trying to find his way around the stranger's ghost still between them. The older man broke the kiss again and took the younger's arm, leading him to sit on the couch. Roy knelt between Edward's knees, resting his hands lightly on the blond man's thighs.

"Don't think," the older man said again. "Just feel."

Edward nodded, and started to lean in, to raise his hands to Roy's shoulders, but Roy stopped him, capturing the younger man's hands with his own and holding them still.

"I want to show you how glad I am that you still want me," Roy whispered. "Let me, Ed."

Edward quirked a small smile, the first Roy had seen in too long. "You're such a control freak Mustang," he said quietly, but he didn't pull his hands free, and Roy took that as his permission.

Slowly the dark eyed man leaned in to trace his lips over his lover's as he reached behind to free blond locks from their high tail. Gold fell free as Roy caressed the line of Edward's jaw, nipping gently at the warm skin below his ear, earning a gasp. Easing the younger alchemist back, Roy began the slow task of unbuttoning his lover's shirt, all the while trailing kisses and nips along Edward's throat. Edward let his head fall back with a low, moan. Easing loose the last button and spreading the shirt open, Roy lips continued their lazy journey along his lover's flesh, and Edward's back arched as the older man paused to tease a nipple with his tongue. Roy's passage continued over Edward's exposed skin, a lick soothed nip here, a feather light kiss there, as tan flesh twitched and strained. The younger man's eyes were almost completely black, but for a thin ring of gold, when Roy finally reached the barrier of the younger man's pants.

Roy went to work on Edward's belt, mouth still busy in its gradual mapping of the younger man's body, once again gently pushing the blond's hands away when he tried to help. Roy unfastened the leather strap and pulled it slowly but steadily from its loops, then unbuttoned his lover's jeans and fingered the zipper's pull. The zipper slid open over Edward's hardness, and Roy eased jeans and boxers down his lover's hips, freeing them from his lover's legs.

"How is this fair?" Edward whispered, panting. "I'm practically naked, and you're . . . ah! Fuck!"

Without pause, Roy swallowed him whole. The young man's shaking hands came up to card through the older man's hair, but Roy caught them again and held them tight against the couch seat. Then he proceeded to do his best to drive the blond crazy, sucking, teasing him with his lips, his tongue. Roy pulled back until just the head of Edward's cock rested in his mouth, then bobbed forward until it met the back of his throat, again and again. Edward moaned, straining not to thrust into his lover's mouth.

Judging from the tautness of his body and the sounds he was making, Edward was very close to the edge of his self control, much as the young man clung to it. Roy kept up his onslaught, moving faster, taking him deeper, until Edward could hold out no longer. With a strangled cry, his lover's name, he released. Roy swallowed him down, massaging him with his tongue, until Edward was done, his tremors subsided. Then the older man let him go and rose to fold the still breathless younger in his arms.

"That was too quick," Edward said apologetically, trying to catch his breath.

"What makes you think it's over?" Roy asked as he took his lover by the hand, tugging him toward the bedroom.

~0~

What Roy liked best about waking up next to Edward was the way their bodies always migrated together in sleep so that the pair were twined comfortably around each other by morning. The way they fit in each other's arms was uncanny. It was as if they were made for each other. And to think he could have lost this . . .

They still had a long way to go before they were past this crisis, but Edward's head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder proved they were on the road to forging their chain anew, and Roy was going to make damn sure they stayed that way. He had almost lost Edward on a foolish whim. That was never going to happen again. The dark haired man prided himself on his ability to learn from his mistakes, and what he had done two nights ago was one of the biggest he had ever made. He had learned this lesson, and was thankful that it hadn't been more severe.

Edward stirred beside him and Roy knew the younger man was awake, but like Roy, loath to admit it to himself by opening his eyes. It wouldn't be long, however, before the infamous Elric appetite reared its head and demanded attention. On cue, a low grumble issued from the vicinity of Edward's midsection.

Roy opened his eyes, ready to suggest breakfast, only to catch the frown Edward wasn't quite fast enough to smooth away, and concern sparked all over again. "What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing," Edward said, nuzzling up under the older man's chin.

Roy rolled to pin his lover with concerned, searching eyes. "What's wrong, love?" he asked again.

Edward gave him a sheepish grin. "I was just wondering how I was going to keep Al from beating the shit out of you."

Roy flopped down on his back, the hint of a smirk on his lips. "I'm sure we'll come up with something," he said. "And if not, maybe I deserve to have my ass kicked."

"It's my ass, you gave it to me," Edward growled, and kissed him.

Breakfast would just have to wait.


	4. Al

Alphonse

With a slight wince, Alphonse accepted the frosted mug from his wife. The cold glass against his palm was soothing as he sipped the soda, keeping his head contritely down. Not that his act was fooling anybody. Winry was trying to keep her stern frown in place, but more than once Al caught the fond smile that kept leaking through when she thought he wasn't looking. It was pretty obvious that she didn't approve of the way he had handled the situation, but knew that under the circumstances he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. She was his wife and best friend all rolled into one, and no one knew him better.

Okay, one person probably did, but Al would never admit that to his spouse. It went without saying anyway. And that one person was ultimately the reason why Al had reacted to the recent turn of events with such uncharacteristic hostility.

Edward. His brother. Whose sole purpose in life, it sometimes seemed, was to keep Alphonse from getting too comfortable.

Though to be fair, Al's current discomfort was not Edward's fault.

Winry had awoken him two evenings before, lightly shaking his arm, breathing an uneasy whisper of, "Al, someone's at the door," into his ear.

He had already been aware of the knocking, but it had seemed a part of the bizarre dream he was navigating, the details already fading as he made the transition from sleep to consciousness. Disoriented, it had seemed to Al that the quick, insistent pace of the taps had a desperate edge, and that, coupled with the lateness of the hour, added to Alphonse' feeling of foreboding. Winry was already slipping on her husband's house robe, tugging it successfully over the swell of her pregnancy, as Al swung his legs out of bed, feet automatically searching for his slippers.

Reaching into the bathroom for his other robe on the way past, Al hurried ahead of his wife to the small apartment's front door, head swirling with a wide range of half formed explanations for this late night intrusion. Most of them involved his brother, and devastating news Al couldn't help but expect but fervently hoped never to receive. Ed was out of town on his current assignment. A knock at the door this late at night couldn't be good news. Not for the first time Al wished he had been able to convince Ed to leave the military, the dangerous job he knew his brother hated, and the foundation for most of Alphonse' bad dreams.

Opening the door, Alphonse was confronted with his worst nightmare come true: a devastated Roy Mustang, eyes haunted with grief, visibly searching for a way to say what he so obviously didn't want to. The unspoken words charged the air like an impending alchemical rebound.

When the older man finally did speak, Al was flooded with a relief so great that for a moment he thought he might faint.

"Is Edward here?" Roy asked, the slight tremor in his voice evidence of his distress.

"No," Al said, relief rapidly replaced by uneasy confusion. "I thought he was in Riften. He called me two nights ago to say he probably wasn't going to be back by Winry's due date."

Roy would not meet his eyes. "He's . . . back." Not 'home'? "I . . . if you hear from him . . . I . . . tell him . . ."

Winry's mind was three giant steps ahead of her husband's. "Roy. What did you do?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

Alphonse looked closer, and was surprised to note shame and guilt shading Roy's distress.

There was something going on here beyond the typical sort of argument that erupted between the two headstrong lovers. Edward and Roy argued all the time, about everything from their personal goals to whose turn it was to take out the garbage, and neither ever made apologies for speaking his mind. They had a mutual respect for each other that made it unnecessary. As a matter of fact, Alphonse suspected that the pair secretly enjoyed their arguments. The verbal sparring certainly never got boring, regardless of the trigger - personal, professional, or domestic – and win or lose, Alphonse had never seen anything other than a self-satisfied smirk on Roy's face as a consequence.

He wasn't smirking now. The man was a mess. Alphonse couldn't recall ever seeing the supremely self-confident Colonel in such a state. He'd certainly never seen Roy struggle to say what he had to, as he was doing now, or avoid the eyes of those he was speaking to, as he was now avoiding Al's and Winry's.

Running a hand nervously through damp, dishevelled hair, the older man gritted his teeth and with great reluctance said, "Ed . . . came home unexpectedly, and . . . I . . . wasn't alone." His shame was almost tangible, hanging in the doorway like an unpleasant odour.

It took a moment for what Roy had admitted to sink in, but when it did, it ignited a rage inside Alphonse so intense that he'd had to turn away, fist clenched, to prevent himself from actually striking his brother's lover. He likely would have immediately turned back to do so anyway if Winry hadn't placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, giving him a slight push toward their bedroom.

Right.

Get dressed.

Go out.

Find Ed.

Al was dressed and standing by the door moments later, suddenly torn between staying with his very pregnant wife, due to deliver their first child sometime in the next week or so, and rushing out into the night in search of his missing brother. Winry gave him a kiss on the cheek, and with a reassuring smile nudged him forward. Decision made, Al brushed roughly past the Colonel without a word.

Where to look?

It was far too late for the library to be open, so Alphonse rejected that destination out of hand. As an alchemist, locked doors wouldn't deter Edward from getting in if he really wanted to, but the potential wrath of the librarians would. Libraries had always been Ed's solace and sanctuary in times of high stress, and the risk of having his access suspended for any length of time as a disciplinary measure would likely be more than enough to keep Edward from trespassing after hours.

Al made his way instead to the little all night cafe he and Edward frequented. Close to the University that Al attended, it had a genial atmosphere that even his generally people wary - and sometimes downright unsociable – older brother found comfortable. The pair had spent many a late evening arguing theory over numerous cups of uncommonly good coffee, making the acquaintance of several affable Central U students in the process.

Stepping inside, Al was disappointed to discover that Edward was not there, and the cute blond waitress that often flirted with them assured the young man that she had not seen Ed that evening. Forcing a convincing smile to dispel her concern, Alphonse asked that she please let Edward know he was looking for him if he happened by later on.

From there Alphonse went to the tavern where Mustang and his team usually met on Fridays, arriving as the bartender was announcing last call to lingering regulars. Not being a regular weekend celebrant himself, Alphonse didn't know him, but the barman knew Edward quite well. Unfortunately however, he had not seen the elder Elric that evening either.

Al's next stop was the barracks, though he didn't think Edward was likely to be there. As a soul in armour Al had never physically slept there himself, but he knew from his brother's frequent complaints throughout their years in search of the Stone that the sleeping accommodations provided by the military for its enlisted personnel were beyond uncomfortable. Alphonse just couldn't picture his brother lying sleepless on a lumpy cot, staring at a cracked, water stained ceiling all night, but he had to check.

As predicted, Edward was not there.

The problem was that Edward had so few options when it came to weathering personal storms. Back in the day, Edward and Alphonse had had no one but each other to rely on for comfort when the going got rough. Winry and Granny Pinako had been there for them on the sidelines of course, but too far removed from the brothers' trials to effectively offer much more than a brief interlude of calm now and then. Edward began seeing Roy shortly after Alphonse regained his natural body, and had moved in with his lover just before Al's marriage to their childhood friend. The brothers still spent a lot of time together, and were still very close – nothing could ever change that – but Roy had gradually come to replace Alphonse as Edward's safe haven, the person he went to first when his shit hit the proverbial fan, and Alphonse had not felt even the slightest of qualms at this transition, never wavering in his belief that the Flame Colonel could be trusted with the responsibility.

Until now.

The young man's rage flared white-hot. What the hell had Roy been up to? For Edward to unexpectedly show up and catch his lover with someone else seemed to indicate that Roy did this often. It was too much of a coincidence for Al to believe that Ed should discover Roy's betrayal the one and only time Roy strayed. How many times had the smug bastard cheated on his unsuspecting lover? Yes, the older man had appeared to be overcome with regret, but was the regret for his actions, or for getting caught? The younger alchemist's fists clenched as he wrestled with his self control, shocked at his uncharacteristic urge to go find the older man and simply beat the living shit out of him.

Alphonse found himself in front of Central Headquarters' main gate. Looking up at the imposing white tower bleached in moonlight, he was greatly relieved to see a familiar figure slip from the shadows of the columned entryway and walk slowly down the steps. Alphonse waited quietly as his brother made his way to the main gate, looking pale and tired. Al's anger surged again, seeing the dazed, confused, _defeated_ look in his brother's eyes.

Without a word, he led Edward home, where Winry waited with warm camomile tea and a comforting hug. Then she took Alphonse firmly by the hand and pulled him to their bedroom. Tugging off his clothes, she gently pushed him onto the bed, then lay down as well to wrap her angry husband in her arms.

It took him a long time to fall asleep.

~0~

The next morning found Edward sitting at the kitchen table in much the same position that Alphonse had left him in the night before, and he wondered if Ed had slept at all. The breakfast Winry had set in front of him was largely untouched, and Alphonse didn't really feel much like eating either, but he forced himself to eat anyway. Winry manoeuvred quietly around the small kitchen, keeping an unobtrusive eye on both brothers as she went about her business.

The telephone rang and Alphonse went to answer it. It was an automail client who didn't seem to understand that Winry was in no condition to do heavy repairs at the moment. It took Al a few minutes to politely but firmly make that clear, and by the time he returned to the table, Edward had left the apartment.

Al didn't have classes on Sundays, so he spent the day with Winry, putting the finishing touches on the nursery, and waiting for Edward to return. As the day wore on and that became less likely, Alphonse' anger became a constant slow simmered just below the surface. Had Edward gone home to get some of his stuff? Had Mustang been there waiting for him? Had the smug, arrogant Colonel turned on the charm and convinced Ed to overlook his transgression?

Day turned into evening, and then into night, and finally the telephone rang.

"Hey Al," Ed said quietly.

"Brother," Al said back, just as quietly. "Where are you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"I'm home."

Al kept his sigh internal. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes," Edward said without hesitation.

"Alright," Al said, not believing that it was alright in the least. "Call me tomorrow, will you?"

"I will," Edward said, and the quiet sound of Mustang's voice in the background grated on Alphonse' nerves like chalk squealing on a blackboard. "Goodnight, Al."

Alphonse carefully hung up the phone, scowling.

So. Mustang had managed to talk Edward into taking him back. No surprise there. The conniving Colonel had a tongue so glib he could probably talk a Drachman into buying ice.

But Al wasn't Ed. It would take a lot more than a few sweet words to convince him that Edward wasn't making a mistake by giving the older man a second chance. Roy had an appointment with his lover's younger brother tomorrow, whether he liked it or not.

Al rather looked forward to making sure that Roy did _not_ like it. At all.

~0~

Alphonse was in front of the door to Mustang's outer office at 2:15 sharp, right after he'd checked with the librarians to make sure that Edward was inside the First Branch and thoroughly absorbed in his research. Al did not want his brother on hand to interfere when he had it out with Roy. Stepping inside he was met by a chorus of happy greetings from the Colonel's team, and a guarded hello from the commander himself. The young alchemist took a small measure of satisfaction from Mustang's wariness, and from the fact that the man did not look at all surprised to see him.

"We need to talk," Al told him evenly. "I'm sure you know why."

The room was suddenly, uncomfortably silent, Alphonse' veiled enmity somehow telegraphing to the others. Havoc shot Breda a small frown, receiving a quirked eyebrow in return. Furey nervously stepped a little closer to Falman. Hawkeye, always the Flame's most vigilant protector, was immediately on guard, her hand unconsciously twitching towards her holstered weapon, sensing that something was not quite right.

Mustang calmly waved off their concern. "Of course," he said with a slight bow of his head. "Would you like to step into my office?"

"I really don't care where this discussion takes place," Al told him. "I guess you might though. Wouldn't want your staff to find out that you're just a lying, cheating asshole, would you."

Every jaw in the room hit the floor. Every eye went wide. Al wasn't sure if it was because of what he had just revealed, or because of how he had revealed it. He might have been amused if he weren't so angry.

The lying, cheating asshole in question appeared unaffected by Al's assessment of his character. "I prefer not to keep secrets from my staff," Roy said. "As for what happened Saturday night, I am ashamed of myself, and wish I could turn back the clock and undo what I did to your brother, but I can't. I consider myself very fortunate that he has decided to forgive me, and that we can put my mistake behind us and move on."

"That's a very pretty speech," Alphonse observed. "Did you come up with it just now, or have you been rehearsing it all morning?"

Mustang did not take the bait. "I realise you're upset with me Alphonse," he said, eyes very firmly on the younger alchemist's. "And you have every right to be. I'm truly sorry. Beyond apologizing, I can't think of any other way to make amends. If you can, please tell me."

"I can, as a matter of fact," Alphonse said, examining his fingernails, and then clasping his hands together to crack his knuckles. "Perhaps it would be better to discuss this in your office after all."

"That's fine, as long as talking is all you have in mind," the older man said, very deliberately taking off his array stitched pyrotex gloves and laying them on Hawkeye's desk. "I'm certainly not going to fight you Alphonse."

"Really? That's a shame," Al said calmly. "It would be a lot more satisfying for me to kick the shit out of you in mutual combat." The younger alchemist took a menacing step forward, more to intimidate than to actually take a swing at the older man at that point, but the response was dramatic.

Mustang was quick. In one smooth motion he dodged through the door to his inner office, bulldozing Havoc, who was standing in his path, through with him. The door swung closed behind them, locking with a sharp clack. It all happened so fast that no one even had time to blink.

Alphonse stared at the blank panel in front of him incredulously, as did the rest of Roy's staff. Furey leaned out from his position behind a horrified Falman to gape at Alphonse. Breda stood tensely behind his desk, eyes darting from the door to Alphonse, then to Hawkeye, frozen with indecision. The Hawk's stricken gaze was locked on the enraged young alchemist, clearly conflicted about drawing her weapon on the young man she and her comrades had looked out for since he was no more than a child bound to hollow steel.

Stepping up to the locked door, Alphonse hammered it once with his fist. "I never took you for a coward," he growled. "But then again, I never took you for a cheat and a liar either. Live and learn I guess."

The Colonel's response was clear through the sturdy oak. "I'll be happy to open the door and talk to you, man to man, once you calm down," he said. "I'm not going to fight you Alphonse, but I have no intention of sitting still and allowing myself to be beaten to a bloody pulp."

Al didn't dignify that declaration with an answer. He merely reached into his jacket pocket for a stick of chalk and sketched an all-purpose array on the door. The transmutation flared blue-white and the door slammed open, just in time for Al to see Roy's head and shoulders drop out of sight below the windowsill behind his desk. The bastard had jumped out the window! Al charged past a stunned Jean Havoc and leaned out of the third story window to watch Mustang's speedy decent down a hastily transmuted ladder.

With an evil grin Al quickly sketched an array onto the bricks supporting Roy's ladder, pleased to see the older man's eyes widen with understanding as the younger slapped down his hands to activate it. The ladder disintegrated, dropping the older man fifteen feet to land unceremoniously in some handy, decorative shrubbery.

Alphonse wasted no time in transmuting a smooth pipe from the wall, which he promptly used to slide down to the ground. Mustang was still struggling to free himself from the bushes that had cushioned his fall when the younger alchemist grabbed him by the collar of his military jacket and jerked him to his feet.

A moment later, blue jacket dangling empty in his clenched fist, Al watch the Colonel make a somewhat erratic run for it toward the parade ground.

"I'm not fighting you, Alphonse!" the older man shouted over his shoulder.

"We'll see about that," Al muttered under his breath as he dropped the jacket and pulled a stylus from his shirt pocket.

With the ease of someone who had spent his formative years doing combat alchemy for the military, Alphonse used the sharp metal spike to quickly draw a transmutation circle in the muddy soil. If the Colonel thought the parade ground's surface would prevent the younger alchemist from drawing an effective array, he had another thought coming. In fact, he was about to discover the tactical error he had made by running into an open field. Al touched the edge of his array and watched as the directed energy flashed past the fleeing officer.

Roy slammed on his breaks just in time to avoid crashing face first into the solid earthen wall that leaped up in front of him, extending some distance to each side, cutting off his escape. The older man pivoted on a heel and raced off along the transmuted barrier, only to encounter another towering construct suddenly blocking his way. With a graceful agility Alphonse would have admired under different circumstances, Mustang used the angle between the two walls and the assortment of exposed roots to scramble to the top and over, dropping out of sight.

Alphonse trotted over to the transmuted barrier and quickly levelled it, sighing at the sight of the Colonel's diminishing figure. Cornering Mustang was turning into a much bigger challenge than Al had initially anticipated. Who could have guessed that beneath that lazy, desk bound, procrastinating exterior there lurked an escape artist as slippery as an eel? Such an impressive skill set had to be the result of all those years spent dodging Hawkeye's unique brand of high calibre motivation.

Mustang was heading into the rabbit warren of enlisted barracks. The collection of small, crackerbox buildings was a nightmare of crisscrossing walkways and sudden dead ends. Doubtless Mustang was familiar with the many ways in to and out of that section of the base, otherwise the cunning Colonel would not have chanced running in there.

Alphonse considered his options. The north exits were all quite a distance from the base's main gates, close enough together for convenient surveillance, and were confined by the perimeter wall, so Mustang probably wouldn't make for any of those. The eastern approach was closest to the library annex, but Alphonse was reasonably certain that the older man would not want to involve Edward in this, so the Colonel would probably avoid that area as well. The older man might choose to hide just inside the southern sector in hopes that Alphonse would leave, but the young man didn't think he would. The Colonel was a man of action, and cowering in the shadows just wasn't his style. That left the western quarter, with multiple exits into the large assortment of military warehouses just beyond. If the Flame managed to make his escape into that subdivision, Alphonse would have to give up the chase. There was far too much cover in there to make running the man down feasible. Alphonse had to make sure he caught the older man before he left the barracks area.

The young alchemist headed west at a fast trot. Mustang had to maneuver through a lot of twisting lanes and alleys to get where he was going, which actually made taking the long way around faster. Fortunately it was quiet in the barracks this early in the afternoon, so Al had no trouble setting his trap. The phoney trip arrays he placed to block four of the five western access ways were non-functional but convincing, and while they would be an inconsequential oddity to any randomly passing soldier, they would put Mustang on his guard.He would likely err on the side of caution and choose to avoid them, which would unobtrusively steer him directly to Alphonse.

Hidden in the shadows between two closely positioned barracks, Alphonse kept watch on the narrow alley and counted the minutes. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty. Nearly twenty-five minutes after losing sight of the man, and just as the blond alchemist was beginning to fear that he had misjudged his prey, Mustang suddenly came into view. He was moving quickly, but carefully scanning the ground in front of him and the shadows around him, no doubt searching for alchemical trips and traps. The crackle of Al's transmutation startled the older man and he wheeled around to run back the way he had come, but it was too late. A freshly transmuted wall blocked his path. Alphonse stepped out of the shadows behind him.

Mustang turned, unsurprised to find Alphonse walking toward him. His back to the wall, the older man's shoulders slumped, then squared. His chin came up, and though his fists clenched, they remained firmly at his sides. Teeth gritted, the Colonel prepared to face the inevitable.

Alphonse strolled up, removing his watch and slipping it into his pants pocket. He took off his jacket and draped it over a railing. Then he rolled up his shirtsleeves, cracked his knuckles, and advanced purposefully on his brother's cheating lover.

When the fist flew out to connect with the wall a hair's breadth away from his face, Mustang neither cringed nor flinched.

"He loves you." Al glowered, eyes locked on the older man's.

"I know." Roy faced that glare, unwavering.

"You hurt him."

"I know."

"I don't know if this was the first time you cheated on him or not, but it had better be the last. Because if it happens again, I will not hesitate to kick your ass. Whether you fight back or not."

"I understand. You have nothing to worry about on that score."

"That's what I used to think. I don't anymore. I trusted you. Now I no longer believe you _can_ be trusted. Prove me wrong."

"I will."

Alphonse turned, picked up his jacket, and walked away.

~0~

Sitting in the kitchen, examining his bruised and bloodied knuckles, Alphonse quietly waited for his wife to speak her mind. He knew she would eventually. Her disapproval was quite evident despite her fond glances. Reaching into the freezer she pulled out the ice tray and brought it to the table.

"Ed's an adult you know," Winry said as she wrapped cracked ice in a towel. "He doesn't need you rushing in to defend his honour."

"I know." Al accepted the icepack and laid it gingerly over the back of his swollen hand. "But I just couldn't let Mustang get away with what he did."

"He didn't get away with anything. Ed forgave him. He gave him the benefit of the doubt." Winry filled the ice cube tray with water and placed it back in the icebox.

Al snorted. "Yeah, well it's the doubt that worries me. Ed let him off too easily. I just wanted to let the bastard know that. And to make it clear that it had better not happen again, or he'd be sorry."

"He's already sorry," Winry said softly, giving he husband's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I knew you wouldn't be able to beat him up."

"How could I? He wasn't lifting a finger to defend himself!" Al snapped, clearly outraged. "He took off his gloves! He jumped out a third floor window! He did everything he could to avoid fighting me, and then when I had him cornered, he just stood there, ready to take it!"

Winry smiled her most superior, infuriating smile. "That's how I know he's really sorry. I knew he wouldn't fight you. He couldn't."

Alphonse gritted his teeth and adjusted the ice pack on his aching knuckles as his wife moved around the small kitchen. Supper was simmering on the stove, the wholesome aroma of the stew easing Al's lingering irritation by slow degrees. Finally he was able to relax with a sigh.

"Okay, Mrs. Know It All," he said grudgingly. "I'll take your word for it."

"Wise decision," she replied with a chuckle.

"But that bastard had better watch his step from now on!" Al growled, suddenly angry again. "Or I'll hunt him down and make him wish . . ."

Winry burst out laughing. "Holy smokes Al! Who's the pregnant one around here? I swear you're more hormonal than I am!"

Al rolled his eyes, and took a few calming breaths. He was _not_ being hormonal!

Winry carefully settled into the chair across from her husband, patting her bulging abdomen affectionately. "Just wait until this little one makes their grand entrance. I have a feeling you're going to make Maes Hughes' obsessive, overprotective father routine look positively apathetic by comparison."

Alphonse snorted. Now his wife's teasing was bordering on the ridiculous. He was _not_ the overprotective type. And obsessive? He was nothing like Maes Hughes! He didn't even own a camera!

. . . but now that he thought about it, getting one sounded like a _great_ idea.


	5. Hawkeye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Yeah, I know. Supposed to be finished. You can thank [Morgrim](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgrim/pseuds/Morgrim) for this chapter. Way back in March of this year they left me a lovely comment that included some speculation about Roy’s team’s reaction to all of the drama. I’ve been sitting on the draft for this ever since, and decided to clean it up for RoyEd week. There might be one more part, but it won’t be soon. Real life is a mess, and interfering with my hobby. Can you guess who might still want to be heard? Enjoy.

The first step in weapons maintenance is to ensure that the cartridge chamber is safely clear, so Hawkeye placed the decocking lever in the down position, raised the pistol, and removed the magazine. The slide clicked softly as she slid it back to check for a chambered round. Finding the narrow compartment empty, she let the slide glide smoothly back to the forward position. 

This particular Beretta M9 was one of her favorite service pistols. She’d had it since her early days as a cadet and over the years it had served her well, so Riza had always been careful to return the favor. Holding it in her right hand with the muzzle raised, her forefinger unerringly found the disassembly lever to rotate it down until it stopped. The barrel assembly slipped easily from the receiver to reveal the recoil spring and guide. The routine was so familiar, so much a part of her, that her hands moved almost without conscious thought. 

That was the thing about guns. Yes, they were dangerous, particularly in the wrong hands. But at the same time, they were infinitely dependable. Providing that you looked after them, they, in turn, looked after you. Their purpose was simple, whether in offence or defence. They had no agenda to serve, no ulterior motives, no quirks or foibles to bring into play. 

Unlike people. 

Some of her colleagues joked, half seriously perhaps, that Riza preferred guns to people. Ridiculous, really. She was admittedly careful with whom she chose to personally associate, but those allowed within her small inner circle were treated with the same care she treated her most treasured possessions. Ishbal had taught her in no uncertain terms that people were the most fragile of beings, friendships were rare and precious beyond all else, and friends were to be protected at all costs. 

Sometimes even from themselves. 

With a gentle hand, Riza lightly depressed the recoil spring while pulling up the guide, removing both from the barrel assembly. Then she separated the two parts and set them aside. The locking block was next, and finally the barrel was released from the slide. Riza arranged all the parts of the disassembled pistol on the clean, white cloth before her. 

People’s affairs were far more complicated to arrange of course. Neatness was the exception, not the rule, with some more than others. Her commanding officer was a prime example. As honest, as noble, as intelligent as he could be, his impulsiveness often made him is own worst enemy. Riza did not pretend to any kind of intimate understanding of anything beyond basic human psychology, but it sometimes seemed to her that Roy Mustang was determined to become a self fulfilling prophesy of the worst kind. It was good that he felt the need to take responsibility and atone for his sins. It was not good to do so by sabotaging his happiness, and consequently the happiness of those closest to him. Take for example his latest, likely subconscious attempt to damage his relationship with Edward. 

It was fortunate that Edward had caught him in the act. Fortunate, because otherwise, Roy’s indiscretion would have remained hidden, festering inside for who knew how long, a toxic event that would have subtly poisoned their relationship and done substantial damage over time. As painful as it had been for Edward, this way the issue was resolved, quickly, and in a satisfactory manner. 

The white flannel cleaning cloth was soft to the touch, and smelled faintly of gun oil. With the ease of long experience, Riza wiped dirt, dust, and carbon buildup from the disassembled parts, one by one. She worked with practiced diligence, ensuring that not a single part was overlooked. Proper maintenance was necessary to ensure proper function, and careless work was out of the question. Every step of the procedure was important. 

All the officers under Roy’s command were technically under Riza’s harshly protective wing, and that included the people close to them as well. Fury’s mother, Havoc’s parents, Breda’s many siblings, Falman’s lover, and naturally Alphonse and Winry. That was what had made it difficult for her to sort out her conflicted reaction when the younger Elric had arrived in the office earlier that day to confront her Colonel. The extreme degree of the young man’s rage had shocked everyone in the office, and that alone made it obvious that some harm had been done to Edward; nothing could affect Alphonse more profoundly than his brother’s wellbeing. By the time Riza had considered how she might intervene, Roy had fled the office with Alphonse in hot pursuit, and out of her reach. All she could do was watch the action unfold from the window, and then wait, hoping that the situation might resolve itself, preferably in a nonlethal manner. It had, surprisingly without bloodshed. 

Riza did not use standard issue military weapon lubricant. She preferred a premium quality product that combined a cleaner, lubricant, and preservative, not only for convenience, but to maximize the performance of her firearm. She wet a swab with the CLP and set about cleaning the bolt face, the guide rails on the receiver, and the grooves on the slide, careful not to neglect other hard to reach areas. As was its purpose, the cleaning fluid would penetrate every pit and crevice, lifting away dirt and grime. 

The scene this afternoon had certainly been a messy and troubling affair. Riza wished that Alphonse had chosen to deal with Roy in a less public place, though she understood why the young man had chosen to confront his brother’s cheating lover in the office. It had been disheartening to hear of the Colonel’s rash and hurtful treatment of someone else Riza cared for. Just as difficult was seeing the effect of Alphonse’ disclosure on the rest of the staff. Kain’s look of hurt betrayal would remain in Riza’s mind for some time, just as Jean’s and Heyman’s roguishly barbed comments would likely linger around the office – distractions the meticulous First Lieutenant did not need. Extensive damage control would most definitely be necessary to get past this, both for Roy, and for his most dedicated protector. 

Riza contemplated the difficulties of sustaining the complex interactions of capricious interpersonal relationships. The optimum performance of the tools of your trade was far easier to maintain. With a wry grin she diligently cleaned the bore and chamber of the hand gun, then lubricated the pistol by covering all surfaces with a light coat of CLP. Riza inhaled the clean, sharp scent of the cleaning fluid as she prepared for reassembly. 

Roy had come back to the office dishevelled and missing his uniform jacket, but thankfully not injured. Riza admired Alphonse’ restraint. Growing up with Edward Elric had likely been an advanced education in exercising self-control. The Colonel had met the eyes of everyone in the office – Kain’s confused disappointment, Jean’s guarded frown, Breda’s calculating expression, Falman’s judgementally raised eyebrow - to finally turn his resigned gaze upon his most loyal defender, fully prepared for Riza to pass judgement upon him. 

Her cold regard did so. “I hope you have learned your lesson, Sir,” was all she’d said. 

It wasn’t really over yet, however. Riza was not sure what to do with the sealed envelope and watch Roy had passed to her that morning, now locked in her desk. At the time, she had wondered what had happened on his assignment that might cause Edward to so suddenly resign his commission. Now she realized that it had nothing to do with the Fullmetal Alchemist’s professional life, but that left her with another dilemma. 

Should she go ahead and process the resignation, or should she check with Edward to make sure that he still wanted to go through with it? The repercussions from the Brass, should they discover the reason why one of their most talented, productive, and undisputedly popular State Alchemists had tendered his resignation, could possibly be detrimental to the Flame Alchemist’s steady rise to power. She would not mention this to Edward when she spoke to him, however. Riza was not in the habit of openly manipulating the people in her charge to achieve the outcomes she desired. 

That was her commander’s forte. 

Whatever Edward ultimately decided, the supremely capable First Lieutenant would deal with it as necessary. 

Reassembly of the M9 was simply a reverse of the procedures used to disassemble the pistol, and Riza’s hands moved with the ease of long experience in this as well. Grip the slide. Insert the muzzle. Slot the recoil spring and guide into place. Be careful not to pull the trigger while placing the slide onto the receiver. Push the slide and receiver together, and lock the disassembly lever into place with a click. Done. 

Naturally damage control in the office had already begun. The fact that Roy’s command, including the commander himself, regarded each other as friends as well as comrades in arms went a long way to mitigating the circumstances. Roy had explained the situation and expressed his sincere regret for his reprehensible behaviour. Kain still regarded his commander with some disappointment, however. As well, Jean and Heymans had spent the afternoon snickering behind their hands, thinly veiled disparaging remarks a subtle part of their banter, but their First Lieutenant’s sharp continued glances would soon put a stop to that conduct. Vato would not require her assistance to get past this crisis; rather, he would likely be of much appreciated assistance in terms of guiding the office back to an even keel. It wouldn’t be long before the staff was back on track, and operating once again at peak efficiency. 

A function check is necessary after a firearm is reassembled to ensure it was working properly. Riza inserted an empty magazine and checked the pistol’s utility, then squeezed the trigger, first to check double action, then again for single action. The hammer fell with a satisfying snap both times as expected. She was ready for whatever was required of her. 

And that included friendly fire. 

Of course, she would never actually shoot any of her charges, even when she thought a carefully placed flesh wound might make her point far clearer than any strongly worded argument ever could. And after all these years, she was quite sure that her flock knew they were safe despite the implied threat of her high caliber brand of encouragement. 

Not that she would ever admit that outright, though, and there was always that small seed of lingering doubt that kept them on their collective toes. Riza performed another function check, just to hear that satisfying snap once again. 

“Lieutenant?” Hawkeye looked up from her task to observe her commanding officer, working with uncharacteristic diligence at his desk. “Could you . . . please, not . . . use that expression while . . .” The Colonel gestured weakly toward the fully assembled gun in her hand.         

The small but positively demonic smile on her face had evidently achieved the desired effect. 

“Of course, Sir,” she said, checking the safety before holstering her weapon and casting a glance at the wall clock. “It’s getting late. Perhaps we should call it a day.” 

The man’s relief was comically obvious. He set about straightening his desk at top speed as Riza stood at parade rest by the door. 

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?” she asked, and the man froze. 

“Always, Lieutenant,” he answered, straightening to meet her eyes unflinching. Bravery had always been his defining characteristic. 

“A man with your aspirations must always hold himself to a higher standard,” she said quietly. “The measure of a man is in how he treats those most vulnerable, and the most vulnerable people in your life are always those who love and trust you.” 

“It will not happen again.” The Colonel’s voice was solid steel conviction. 

“Very good, Sir.” 

Whatever fallout resulted, Riza was prepared to mitigate the damage. It was her sworn duty to protect those she held dear, and protect them she would. 

Whether they liked it or not.

 


End file.
